


Where Cursed Men Lay

by CallMeHopeless (IAmNotBread)



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, And A Massive Dick, Animal Transformation, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Ben Was Very Sexist, Ben doesn't get a break, Blood and Violence, Curse Breaking, F/M, Idiots in Love, Imprisonment, Isolation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Monsters, Protective Ben Solo, Transformation, Violence, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21511681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotBread/pseuds/CallMeHopeless
Summary: Cursed to slowly grow more monstrous as punishment for his arrogance: Ben Solo lives an isolated life in his mansion, deep in the forest.The key to unlocking this curse? To find love, and be loved in return.But time is running out. Ben feels himself slipping away.Soon, only the beast will remain.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 21
Kudos: 284





	1. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”
> 
> \- F. Scott Fitzgerald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to everyone on Tumblr who wanted this idea and decided to pitch in to help me come up with the plot. You're good eggs. Nothing but respect for MY smutty angels.
> 
> I now have five billion WIPs. RIP in pepperonis. I only have myself to blame.

_Blood._

He scents it in the air - tastes it on his tongue, sitting in his mouth like a dark and stormy haze. He hopes it's a buck: hopes there's enough meat to keep the hunger in his belly down for yet another night. Out here, the food never lasts.

A meal is always reprieve from the ache in his chest.

The bear traps sometimes spring well beyond nightfall. He'd prefer to hunt himself: to trap his prey and rip it, tear it open in his maw and leave it broken on the ground. Eat the raw meat; dripping juices and warmth that run down his throat. Feels good. Feels like scratching an itch he can't reach; the instincts that swirl now almost impossible to resist. They creep and snap and drag him deeper, deeper still - it's easier, now, to let them win.

To be the monster he feels he is.

Prowling, he pulls at the latch on his door in clawed hands; scratching at the woodwork as the night air assaults his nostrils. Something whimpers - good. The kill is always richest when he's this close to midnight. It takes his mind away from the passage of time. Keeps him steady.

"H-hello?"

He stops dead.

A human voice. Dripping in fear. Pain.

Male - a man, his leg mangled in the shackled trap. He's climbed the high walls in the dark cover of night. Perhaps he's a robber: opportunist. Looking for an easy score, deep in the forest.

"Help!" he cries out, skittering back against the wall. The trap drags; chain crackling in the silhoutted night. He looks young - not much older than Kylo is, but thinner than he's ever been. Dark skinned and short-haired; pack laying open on its side.

Hiker.

Kylo growls. Steps out into the dark.

When the man sees him - _oh_ , how he _cries out_ in fear.

"Wh--" he fumbles, eyes wide. "--What are you?! STAY BACK! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

He must look truly monstrous, then. Must look every bit the creature children whisper to their parents about; hiding in the shadows of their rooms in the witching hour. No human has come this way for as long as Kylo has stayed trapped here; trapped in this hellscape, this waking nightmare from which there is no reprieve.

The blood drips: Kylo's stomach aches.

He wonders if he's come this far, then. If he's capable of killing humans, too.

_There is no going back._

Kylo's cloak drags; thick fur tangled in the wind, lips peeled back over huge teeth. He wonders if this man will understand, if Kylo dares to speak. Wonders if his voice still works - still holds something _human_ about it.

_"Trespasser."_

_Oh -_ it does. It's thicker and lower and marred by time, but he hears himself: hears a man, somewhere. Someone else, from long ago.

Things have changed, and so has he.

The man on the floor winces, trembling with fear that slicks to his skin in the cold air. He remembers having skin, once. Remembers how it felt to shiver something fierce; feel the bite of cold night air on soft flesh.

 _Remembers_.

"Don't hurt me", he begs. "I was only...only looking for a place to stay. A place to..." he licks his lips. "Please, I'll go. Just let me go."

Kylo huffs.

"This forest is mine, _Meat_." He growls it: spits it through his wolfish maw. "There is no _'go'._ " 

He'll keep this one - keep him here, until the fear has pricked that sensation into his bones. Carved those pleading words into his marrow: until this man has learned to never, never return. To tell his every companion that this place is unyielding, filled with monsters that crawl and spit in the dark forest.

Perhaps he'll kill him, though. Rip him up for fun.

See what humans look like _on the inside._

But scents carry in the night sky; something delicate and smooth. Warmth, all warmth - delicious in his nostrils as a shape slips over the top of the high stone wall. A lone figure drops to the dirt; stumbles forward in the night air.

 _"Finn?"_ you whisper. _"Finn? Are you alright?"_

_Girl._

"Go!" Finn gives a strangled sound, grabbing at his bleeding leg. "R-Run!"

And ever so slowly; you meet Kylo's eyes.

You stagger back.

"FINN! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Kylo doesn't like your tone - doesn't like the way you eye him like he's foul, like he's disgusting. Clawed feet scrape through the earth as he moves toward you; red eyes trained on your heaving form in the dark.

 _Pretty_. You're very _pretty_. Soft and smooth: an air of defiance. You won't be intimidated into leaving here with your lips shut, Kylo realises. You reek of someone _sharp_.

God, but how he wishes you weren't looking at him like this.

"Just GO!" Finn yells; trying to drag himself up against the wall with desperate movements. "GO!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

You stumble forward, all fear and pain as you stagger to your knees and pry at the latch on the trap. It's loose enough that your lithe fingers will open it, if you try hard enough: Kylo imagines so, anyway. Imagines the sharp teeth of the metal imprinting into your friend's throbbing leg are loose enough that with the right pressure, it might just snap free.

Which is why he growls, spit thrashing as he thrusts his muzzle out to snap at your face.

"He's _mine._ These woods are mine, _Girl_. My trap has claimed one trespasser - and _I'll claim the other."_

He feels so heavy with muscle - all wrong, all in the wrong places. Bunched and bundled as he snaps, red eyes fixed on you as your hands freeze. He's a monster; a thing, a creature of matted fur and darkness.

And you stare. Disbelief _-_ no, _incredulity._

He's never seen something so strange.

"Let him go - please, _please_ let him go."

Opportunity pricks. It slithers over his skin; more than hunger, darker than anger. Possession licks at his claws: and in your begging tone, he hears something strange.

 _Remembers_.

* * *

It's warm: a Fall night, soft breeze rustling the trees. It's shit enough to be stuck here - stuck here while his parents hash out divorce proceedings, or whatever the fuck it looks like. He's 28, and it's all just apples and oranges, really. He's got his own apartment back in New York, but work's better up here. Online stuff; he runs his mom's substantial accounts from out of the Lodge for a hefty slice of the pie.

He'll get it all, once Dad is out of the picture.

Good. The old man can _choke_.

Hux throws back a gin; winding his arm around some girl's shoulder. Kristy or Crystal or something - something unremarkable, sort of like her scrunched up nose and short crop top.

Ben takes a huge swig of his beer, hoping he'll get some action tonight. One of these girls should put out, right? He supplied the beer; put on that shitty music girls like. Invited anyone hotter than the average broad he passes in the local town - Hell, he even offered to _pay_ for Bazine's flights out here.

She's too busy for him. Too busy fucking some other guy to spend time with him.

Whatever. Fuck her.

The doorbell goes: he finds himself pushing through the throng of bodies lining the open-plan room. Music pounds; someone says his name, he thinks. His head is throbbing in time with it already - he wonders if there's something in this town that makes the booze a little stronger than the swill back in New York.

The one good thing about this place.

He fumbles at the lock, the door one of those fancy modern ones as it clicks open in a swirl of lukewarm air.

"Who the fuck are you?" he huffs, leaning against the frame in that cocky way he always does.

The girl's _not_ his type. All bony and weird-looking: big nose, crooked features. She looks cartoonishly unfuckable, wearing the drapiest clothing he's ever seen - Jesus, how the fuck did she find this place? Is this a prank? Someone's idea of making a joke out of him?

"Sorry", she licks her chapped lips, wringing her hands. "I'm lost. I just need to borrow a phone for a second: call my friend. Get her to come pick me up."

Ben huffs a disbelieving laugh.

"That's a joke, right? What is this; some stupid prank?"

Her brow dips. "Sorry?"

Ben shrugs, chewing his lip to stifle his hysteria. _She's serious. Holy shit._

"You think I'd fall for that? What, let you come in and gatecrash?"

The woman tugs at her hair.

"Please: I can wait here. I just need to borrow a phone."

Ben swigs his beer, swilling it in his cheeks.

_"Piss off."_

Okay: maybe this is a bit much. Maybe. Whatever. He's not sure - he's met enough opportunistic women for a lifetime, and women don't just end up here. It's out of the way - like really, really out of the way. Carpooling is pretty much how you get in or out, and even then, the forest is _huge_. Like Hell she just stumbled on this place by accident.

Maybe she does need to borrow a phone.

More likely she thinks he's some sucker, and she'll pocket his Rolex on the way out.

"You'd really leave me lost in the woods? Don't you have a heart at all?"

Ben does laugh, then - freckles dancing on his face as he loops his thumb into the pocket of his jeans.

"Try some other sucker, sweetheart. I don't fuck _charity cases."_

The wind changes. He swears the night was clear - wasn't it? Weren't the stars out, earlier? He swears it wasn't quite so dark out here: swears the trees weren't quite so sharp, licking up at the stars. It's the beer, right? It's the beer.

The woman grinds her teeth, looking downright miserable, and something deep down inside him does relent. He's not sure which emotion flicks through his chest - but it's dull, and slow, and not at all compelling enough to change.

 _He'll never change._ Why would he want to?

"Never?" she asks, and it's...no, it's not...he's drunk. He's definitely way too drunk.

She's talking about the fucking thing. She's challenging him.

Bitch.

"Never." He goes to slam the door, but presses his knuckles to the gap to spit through his teeth. "Don't you fucking dare come back here."

And as moonlight peaks out from behind the clouds, he swears he sees her ivory teeth peaking from under her lips.

 _Smiling_.

* * *

"He's sick - please. He's got a blood disorder, he'll...he needs help. _Please_ , I'll do anything."

_Don't you have a heart at all?_

"Leave me!" Finn growls, shoving the girl back. "For God's sake, he'll kill us both!"

He could. Perhaps it would be just the thing - just the way to ease this clawing need. Rip the humans up, tear them in the garden: let the forest take them back into the dirt. He knows it's cruel, and wrong, and pointless, so pointless.

And the monster in him _wants it._

You tremble as you try to stem the bleeding, copper filling Kylo's nose with delectable scents. But something else flickers, too - something moving like water, snuffing at candlelight in dark places.

_Lonely._

His clawed feet ache as he snatches at your wrist in huge hands: twisting his grip around your wrist to yank you up onto your feet. Tears of fear trickle at your cheeks: slow things, falling like rain.

"You."

You try to tug away weakly, pulse thrashing. "...Me?"

Kylo's chest rumbles, voice rasping.

"He goes. You stay. Take his place."

"No! You can't! You can't do that!" Finn cries out, eyes wide.

You swallow.

"Quiet, Meat. Or I'll keep you _both_."

Kylo knows what you'll say - he knows, oh he knows. He knows as his clawed paws snap the trap open: knows as he lifts your thrashing friend with ease, throwing him outside the gate.

Knows as he snaps the locks on tight; as you stand trembling in the entryway.

You're _his_ , now.

And for the first time in a year; he is no longer alone.

* * *

The hangover is the worst he's ever had.

He wakes face-down in bed: vision blurred, head splitting as Ben groans into the mattress. His hair's pasted to his head with sweat, and he's still donning evidence of last night's absolute shitfest. Jeans with spilled salsa on them, shirt covered in sweat patches at the collar. He wonders if he'll puke: thinks he might, if he so much as moves a little too fast.

Shit. This is bad. This sucks.

He hoists himself up, pulling into the bathroom and pushing his lips under the cold water tap. It passes over his pale skin: instincitvely, he groans as his stomach flips.

It's all of about five seconds before he's vomitting sticky beer down the plughole, sloshing in his throat like bitter fire. He lets it come up until he's wretching on nothing, and he knows - knows this won't be the last of it.

Fucking figures. He didn't get laid and now he's facing a grueling hangover.

Once the room stops spinning and the porcelain feels less like a death trap, Ben takes the huge staircase down to the living area. He'll grab some orange juice - survey the damage. Call the maid if he really can't be fucked - which is more than likely the case. _She's there for a reason, after all. It's what she's paid for._

He makes it to the bottom, and calloused fingers grip the banister. 

There's a...girl. This gorgeous, scanty girl: flowing green dress and big, brown eyes. Her legs are folded up on the coffee table; she's petting this big, stupidly sized rose one of the girls gave him at the start of the night. Ridiculous looking, overengineered thing - he joked about making Hux eat the petals, one by one.

Her fingers prick at the thorns; she casually looks up at him.

"Feeling alright?" she asks, and _her voice._ Her voice is melted butter: sunscreen on chapped skin. 

He chuffs, feeling colour flush to his cheeks.

"Oh, I'm great", he chuffs. He takes two rocky steps forward, licking his lips. "Everyone's gone home, you know."

She grins. "I know."

 _Oh_.

Maybe his luck's turning around.

"Do we know eachother? My head's a fucking wreck."

She bites her cherry-red lip, shrugging. "We met."

Ben groans, wiping a damp palm over his sharp features.

"I should remember that. You one of Mitaka's exes? From the beer pong?"

She shakes her head, brown locks curling in the air.

"We met at the door, remember?" she laughs; the sound of chimes on the breeze. "I needed a phone."

Ben isn't laughing now.

Okay, he was clearly absolutely trashed last night, because that memory is blurring with something else. Right? She's _hot_. No way he'd stop her using his phone. No way he'd stop her using anything she wanted - he thinks he'd offer her the sweaty shirt from his back if she needed a tissue.

"This is a prank, right? America's Home Videos kind of shit?"

When she stands up: it's strange. It's this strange thing that Ben can't quite work out, and all 6ft3 of him moves back at the bottom of the steps just a bit. It's like he's still drunk, but she's the one blind spot. She's moving in a way nothing else can, and his brain just...doesn't like it.

She twirls that oversized rose in her hands like it's some fucking gymnastics baton.

She's tall. Ethereal.

Scary.

"Never changing, huh? What a thing. To be a heartless monster for the rest of your life. Never knowing better." She takes a step forward, dress flowing in the morning light. "Could you live with yourself, if people knew? If people saw you as you really are?"

His drink must've been spiked. This is fucked. This isn't fucking funny at all.

"Get out."

"Could you ever love anything, Ben? Have you ever been more than a creature, eating the hearts of innocent girls?"

Ben steps back, teeth bared. "I'm warning you--"

"--Oh, are you?" she laughs; but it's try. Humourless. "You don't frighten me, Beast. _But you will._ "

And a pointed, delicate hand reaches out: plucks at a crimson petal as she folds it in her fingers.

And then - _and then._

She rips it out.

 _Pain._ He screams as agony shoots through his eyes; the worst migraine in the world, straight through the nerves in his face. Shit; she's fucking drugged him, she's drugged him, he's dying and she's spiked his drink and now he's screwed, he's so screwed, Oh fuck this hurts--

She stands over him and laughs. Laughs like he's not writhing in pain: like he's not dying on the floor beneath him.

_Doesn't she have a heart at all?_

* * *

The house is cold.

Dark and starlit, filled with blustery air. The space was once this beautiful, immaculate thing: but now it's more a barren place. The paintings have been ripped from the walls. No photographs remain on the shelves; nothing, no reminders. No mirrors, no art. The television is covered with a cloth - the radio hidden away in the luxurious kitchen. That lays barren, too: though filled with food from the maid's visits twice a week, most of it is thrown to the birds.

Kylo cannot stand to eat the foods he used to crave.

They taste of ash and dirt; make his body ache and shiver. Flesh is warm; flesh eases the pain in his guts.

Twisting as his body grows - taller, taller every night. Too big to fit safely though the doors, now: his spine grows hunched, huge jaws growing longer.

He hasn't seen himself in full to know, but what he sees...oh, how he _despises_ it.

Some warped visage of a wolflike thing, but ever more terrifying; beastly with dripping jaws and long, spindly claws. Bones that feel like iron, muscles so tight that they burn across his chest as though to constrict his lungs. He lays awake at night rasping breaths; waiting, waiting. Desperate to sleep.

But any night could be the night the last petal crumbles. Withers to nothing: takes with it the last scraps of his humanity, of his psyche. The mindless beast could seize control; killing, ripping, breaking. Leaving only instinct in its wake.

He'd rather die.

He _can't_.

"Up the stairs", he growls. "Third door. Use it as you see fit. Bathroom's next to it. Eat what you will. Touch nothing you don't ask to touch. Open no doors you aren't permitted to."

Claws grip the banister, now chipped away from endless grasping at it. Heaving his heavy body up the stairs, back when he refused to walk on all fours.

Now he prefers it - it takes the pressure from his heavy frame. Gives his shoulders some reprieve.

Feels right.

He stalks up the wooden, winding staircase; the glass back of the house showing the beautiful gardens. Unmaintained, but always striking in the cold night. His eyes are attuned to this; and the way it kisses your features as you stand in the doorway. He hardly knows how to proceed - a woman, here. Pretty thing. Living in his home. 

_Captive_.

He shakes his head, spitting down his fur. You trespassed. He needs to show his strength.

What else is there, if not for that?

"He'll come back", you sob quietly. "You'll see...He'll...He'll come back for me. He knows the woods."

Kylo huffs a laugh, but it leaves his maw as something of a bark.

You tremble, and Kylo feels a pang in his chest.

"I wish", he growls.

And then; he ascends.

* * *

_Once, for all the broken hearts,_

_You cruelly do devour,_

_The beast will take,_

_More of your flesh,_

_With each night's witching hour._

  
_Twice, for all the joy you find,_

_At others feeling pain,_

_Those who seek,_

_To comfort you,_

_You'll never see again._

_Thrice, for all the sorrow,_

_You have sought to see is born,_

_When petals weep,_

_Your time runs dry,_

_And beasts take to the thorn._

_And once again, for all the love,_

_You scorned and sent away,_

_You'll find that love,_

_And love returned,_

_Or sleep,_

_Where cursed men lay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me lord jeebus I know not what I do
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr to tell me what you wanna see from this!](callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


	2. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.”
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-read the most recent chapter and I realised I'm probably a very fucked up human being  
> So in this chapter I set out to prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt  
> TW for uhhhhh, Kylo is a monster and behaves like one...a lot. So he's an absolute asshole, as expected, and not in a cute way. In a dark, twisted, bad sort of way. He'll get major character development though

Morning is an evil, cowardly thing.

He never did enjoy that glaring light - but now, it's something entirely cruel. Something that reminds him he's a warped visage of himself: growing more and more distant from the person he once knew with every passing night.

Today: he _aches_. The muscles in Kylo's shoulders press across his neck, too tight for his body as he groans from the pressure in his spine. The nest of blankets and feathers he's made hardly gives him any comfort in the cold light: angrily, he snarls as he staggers onto his feet, stumbling against the wall and gritting his teeth.

_Did it always ache like this?_

He tries to remember. Tries to force himself to picture rising from his soft bed on a quiet Sunday morning. Tries to picture the sensation of running his hands over pillows: how the cotton beneath his fingertips gave him a thousand notions of gentle safety, bearing with it every moment he ever took for granted as he stumbled, hungover, into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He tries and tries and tries.

_Hungry._

Nostrils flare; Kylo claws at the gap in the door, pushing his way through and lumbering down the corridor to the stairs. This part always kills him - every pull of his muscles too much, too taut and burning like he's run a thousand miles. He shifts his weight to the front; claws digging on the wood as he starts his huffing descent.

He pauses. Huffs the air.

_Girl._

Girl. Not a memory, nor a dream from long ago. There's a real, flesh-and-blood woman here: her scent permeates the air, sticking to the plaster in the walls. Licking at the paint on the doors like some sort of gorgeous melody - every sensation of her so plain to him that he can hardly comprehend the reality of it.

_So much time alone._

_Better alone,_ the monster snarls.

_Maybe._

He clambers down the flight; breathing heavily enough that it reverberates in his soft ears. Kylo tries to pull his lips over his teeth and it just...never quite sticks. They jut, too large and inhuman to do anything but drip from his pointed muzzle; warping his face into something ugly and cruel. The parts of him that crash together fight endlessly over whether these monstrous jaws are something desirable, or whether he's just...

_Click. Click C-lick._

His crimson eyes settle on you: kneeling on the floor, jamming a fork into the electronic lock on the door. Your dirty clothes from the night before are still clinging to your body; the scent of dirt clawing at your skin, coupled with a tart undercurrent Kylo has no understanding of. Even in the shadows of the morning, you're something delicious to him. Something compelling and warm, drenching him in a curious sort of hunger after so many nights alone.

_"Get away from that, Girl."_

It rumbles in warning, right through his muscular chest. Claws scrape as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, growling and snarling when you drop the fork in utter terror.

"You--" you stumble back across the room, flattening your back against the bright-white wall "--you...let me go! LET ME GO!"

"No."

Your lip trembles - heart pounding loudly enough that he can hear the thrumming of it. Hearing's good now: he can hear every drip of the rusty tap upstairs. Hears the wind outside.

Hears the way your breath hitches as you try to speak.

"W-what..." you close your eyes for a moment,"w-what do you want from me? To _eat me?"_

He huffs.

_"Maybe."_

"Please. Please, I just want to go. I won't tell anyone. I won't."

Kylo moves closer.

His tattered, long cloak drags as his laboured breaths puff through the air; he huffs through his damp nose, taking in the delectable tartness he can't quite place.

You try to shrink away, and...

Oh.

 _Fear_.

And he hates just how much he _likes_ it.

"You agreed to take his place. _A contract."_

You shake your head, sliding along the wall towards a dusty bookcase.

"Monsters aren't real. This is a trick."

You almost sound like you believe it. Almost sound convinced as you grit your teeth; eyes raking down his hulking form. He couldn't say how tall he is nowadays, though his bulky form casts a long shadow over your shaking form - easily dwarfing you in the cold morning light.

"A _trick_?"

You nod slowly.

"You're just--"

In one swoop of a clawed hand, he seizes your wrist. Pulse flutters under his pointed fingertips as you yelp in fear, trying to snatch away from his grip.

" _Trick?"_ Spit slides from his jagged teeth as he hisses through jutting jaws. "You think I'm a vision, do you? Think I'm a man dressing up as a beast to _frighten little children?"_

A booted foot kicks at his muscled thigh - sudden and harsh, making him snarl as his claws loosen.

_Don't you dare._

But you see your chance: and with that, you _run_.

Red eyes widen as the hunt sears through his blood - sickly black ichor in his mind that brings giddy excitement as he snaps his teeth and pursues in a prowl. The marble floor beneath him offers little purchase as he slowly moves across the room; watching you smash at the lock on the door with your fist.

It won't budge. It'll never budge.

This whole house is a _tomb_.

"You think I'm a monster, _Girl?_ Think I'm waiting in your _nightmares_?"

Sweat sticks to your hair as you huff, eyes wide as anything. Reeking of succulent fear and softness and _girl_.

You bolt for the stairs with such desparation that he has to fight the urge to rip you asunder right there on the landing: has to reign in the fierce howling in his stomach as you take the steps two at a time, scrambling for your life up into the corridor while he trails on after you.

Rakes his claws against the painted walls until he feels it peel against his _touch_.

When you make it to the doorway of the guest bedroom, you slam the whole thing right in his face. Furniture drags - scraping on the wooden floor that sends his pointed ears ringing out as though in pain.

Kylo just waits in the landing. Waits, as though you might just give in and turn back.

He won't breach the door.

After all: he's not a...

He's not...

_...Ah._

_Fuck._

* * *

The WiFi goes down within the first few days.

Signal's never any good up here. Landline used to work ok, until Mom forked out for better internet and did away with it. Times are changing - Skype's a lot easier than calling out and risking all those stupid telemarketing scams Dad used to rant about, and Ben's got the added benefit of being able to use as much as he wants when he's over here working.

But then, it's all gone.

All of it.

He tries to fix the cables, but it's...something's wrong. His hands are aching like nothing else, and he's not quite...there's no coordination there. It's like his brain has the means, but his muscles are aching to the point that he's not able to do much but doze on the couch.

Ben's pretty sure he's been drugged, and the reaction has been fucking _serious_.

Dialing out won't work. Internet's dead. His only options are to hike back to the town to see a doctor, or wait for the maid to come by and get her to take him.

He's still got three days until she's here, though.

He might be dead by then.

Shit. _Shit_.

Ben stumbles into the kitchen, lungs aching as he pours a glass of ice-cold water. Tries to wash down this feeling of dread in his stomach that sickens and turns, before he decides on any other course of action.

But then, dark eyes fall on that _fucking_ flower.

Beautiful thing. Ruby red petals in such a full, wondrous plant. He's not one for flowers, but this one...this one is almost curiously beautiful. Strangely so.

He _despises_ it.

Ben sees the vision of that laughing, sneering woman all over again. Sees the strange dream he had in the morning after - the hallucinations that plagued him, blurring the line between reality and fiction.

So he grabs it roughly in his hand.

The petals twist.

One _breaks_.

And he cries out as his eyes turn a deep, ruby red.

* * *

_"Come out."_

Kylo tries to say it with some softness. He wants it to be something more open than what drips from his lips: a threat, marred by a rumbling growl that lingers in his throat.

_Monster._

He hears you pacing across the floorboards; as you have been for hours. Occasionally sniffling - sometimes pawing at the window, looking for a route out of this place.

His parents built it to withstand almost anything.

The only 'out' is through him.

"Leave me alone!"

You kick the door; in response, Kylo flinches and growls through the slight gap in the frame.

"I won't _eat you_ if you _behave."_

He isn't sure if it's a joke or a threat.

He doesn't want to know.

Unfamiliar emotions tremble through his spine, picking at his bones and pulling him into odd patterns of thought. Black fur bristles under the weight of it; strangely, he feels a coil of guilt blooming in his lower back, tempting him to turn you free into the woods. Tempting him to apologise - to console you, soothe the wounds he inflicted on your psyche by chasing you and scaring you senseless.

What the Hell was he thinking?

And that's the thing, isn't it?

_He wasn't._

He shakes his head, snarling.

"You'll _starve."_

A pause.

"What do you care if I starve?"

His hunched shoulders slump in a half-shrug.

"Maybe you're right", he murmurs.

His belly aches - a reminder that the day is growing long, and the hunt draws deeper inward. Fresh meat is to be found deeper in the woods; it'll sate the cruel wanting in his belly, make him feel as though he's no longer something crude and purposeless. The first time he ripped into the flesh of a deer...oh, God. He sobbed from the absolute pleasure and shame: hatred for the beast and love for the sated cravings.

And now there is only the smallest sliver of hesitation remaining.

Soon there will be none at all.

Kylo licks his sharp teeth, claws clicking as he strides by the door.

"Starve. Or don't. I'll find prey in the woods until the evening."

He pauses, huffing as he shakes his head.

_Go now. Show strength._

"I won't disturb you." Kylo's eyes travel to the stairwell. " _Don't_ make me regret it."

_Weakness._

_He always was weak for a pretty face._

* * *

Night draws in when he emerges from the pines.

Needles draw underfoot, crisp pieces stuck in the fur of his tail as he lumbers back to the house in the light of the moon. Stars are obscured by a thin layer of cloud: something eerie in the sky making Kylo feel oddly at peace with this edge of the world. The taste of blood on the roof of his mouth is so exquisite; a full belly grounding him back in reality, making him feel genuinely full for the first time in days.

He huffs around as he swipes the keycard from the window ledge, stuffing it into the lock for the front door.

Not like anybody comes by for tea anymore. No need to hide the damned thing.

Excitement filters into his bloodstream at the thought of just...contact. Human conversation. Someone being here and real and present, and not just...

"Girl?"

He barks it through the house with all the tenderness his monstrous voice can muster - pushing his weight onto his four clawed limbs and seeking out the delicious scent of you. The lights are on in the huge kitchen; Kylo kicks the door shut and pads through, cape flowing behind him as it drags pine needles and forest refuse all over the marble.

A half-eaten sandwich lays discarded on the bench.

Kylo's heart beats just a fraction faster.

"Where are you, Girl?"

He searches through the dining area. Huffs at the living room. 

Nothing. Nothing tangible.

But then--

\-- _Oh_.

Oh, _fuck_.

_Oh no._

Feet clatter as Kylo lets out a snarl of absolute blind rage; throwing the door to the cellar open as he follows your scent down into the cavernous room. Wine racks line the walls with old vintages; sofas pushed around a coffee table in the light cast by the small chandellier.

And every single corner is _filled_ with mirrors.

Reflecting a thousand visages in chromatic silver; every mirror reflects smashed photographs from times long gone. Every mirror faces another portrait Kylo tore from the walls - another painting his mother had covetted, when he'd loved to paint and sketch and draw with all the passion in the world. Candid paintings of people gathering under an umbrella in the New York rain. A man with tattoos sitting with his dog on a bench.

Reminders of all the ways he used to fill his life with reasons to carry on.

But you aren't staring at the mirrors.

You're not staring at every modeled painting, at every splodge of ink.

You're staring at the huge canvas, right in the center.

He'd sketched it in a dark and lonely time; in the moments between his gratuitous parties and long, cheapened nights. It's just him - just his face, eyes closed as he leans back on the tiles of the roof, arms behind his back as his hair flares out around him. Gold paint laces through some of the tendrils of hair; drifts to accentuate some of the freckles on his face as though to make them look like stars.

No smile lingers on the face of that familiar stranger, but he's...peaceful, somehow. Lips pressed together just barely in the starlit night.

On the coffee table right in front of it, potted haphazardly: the flowing rose blooms next to discarded, shrivelled petals. Your hands stroke through the tips; red against your hands as you gaze at the canvas above.

And upon seeing it: Kylo _howls_.

_"GET AWAY FROM THAT!"_

It rips from his vocal chords in a monstrous torrent of sounds; his jaws snapping and blood burning in his veins. You withdraw your hand and stagger backward, but the fear in Kylo's lungs only ratchets up as he puts his weight onto his back legs to look as truly menacing as he can.

"I'm--"

_"--GET OUT. GO. DON'T YOU EVER, EVER COME BACK HERE AGAIN!"_

But you don't move.

You should move - he's giving you a chance, he's giving you a moment to run and you're--

"It's you. The picture. It's--"

No.

_Not anymore._

Kylo bears his teeth.

"Start running, _Girl."_

And in a moment of clarity - you bolt for the stairs.

And the monster sees himself reflected in a thousand, thousand shards of starlight.

Oh; how he _screams_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of woobifying this a lot more but decided that if I'm doing MONSTERS I'm doing MONSTERS and that feeling bad for Ben and also seeing that he is a monstrous and fairly shitty person is important
> 
> [Come and lambaste me for my crimes ](callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


	3. Incarnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”
> 
> \- Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh...it's...soft now
> 
> TW: Panic attacks, and some sort of gory body horror (which is to be expected)

He always sort of hopes he'll wake up from the nightmare.

The days are short and painful: he spends them pacing, biting his nails and looking for ways to get out of this madness. Sometimes he packs a bag. Convinces himself he'll hike back to town and plead for help, even if it means the government drags him away like an animal and cuts him wide open.

But the forest turns him around.

He always ends up getting lost in the trees: hungry and worn down as he loses the path. When he finds it again and follows his map: he's back at the gate of the lodge.

Sometimes he just breaks down into hysterical laughter.

_No way out._

His teeth grow all pointed and his toes start to curl and he's getting taller, taller every day in a way that makes the muscles in his body ache. Bruises all down his chest like purple paint splodges as things inside him grow at different rates, moving around under his skin and making him feel like he'll die any day now, even if he knows he won't.

Slow. It's so _slow_. 

She could've just made it sudden. Could've spared him this insanity, this endless waiting and torment that goes with watching bits of himself being chipped away. That would've been merciful - just make him a creature and leave him to learn from it, turned out in the woods until he gets to grips with whatever twisted lesson she's giving him.

The nights go on forever, though; and they're the worst part.

He waits and waits, fire in his blood and creaking in his body. Waits for midnight to twist him further into this Hell. He tries to sleep, but the bedsheets feel wrong. Feel like he's being burned across his skin when they touch any part of him.

He starts sleeping on the floor. 

Feels good.

He tries to drink it all away. Pours down shots: sleeps with the bottle. Wakes up to get drunk again.

What's the point? _What's the point in any of this?_

He never sees the maid; she seems to stop by, but he never knows when. Tries to stay up so he can see her, can beg to her to get him away from here. But when exhaustion takes him - he wakes up to an immaculate house. Wakes up to a stocked fridge. Wakes up to no trace of her presence having graced him.

And not for the first time: Ben is utterly _alone_.

* * *

The storm hits in a torrent of rain and a crack of lightning: drawing a snarling Kylo back into his body.

He licks his crooked teeth with his tongue and paces through the living room - rain battering down on the windows and soaking through the trees like nothing else. He hasn't seen a storm like it in his time trapped here, and it's likely going to last for longer than a mere few hours.

He doesn't have the spine to shut the front door yet. Doesn't know if that makes you running off something finite.

_You chased her off._

He growls.

_Not my fault._

The monster in him toys about in his head: angry and bitter at the thought of losing something useful. It warbles about his weakness; huffing at his lack of forethought.

_Didn't close the door right. Too busy drunk on her scent. Let her escape._

Rage fills him hot and fast: angrily, he picks up an antique vase and hurls it at the wall. Shards of china shatter as his roar fills the space, reverberating from the walls as Kylo's heart pounds in his chest.

"SHE CHOSE!" he tears at a bookcase, novels raining down as he pushes it to the ground with an oversized claw. "LET HER DIE IN THE STORM! _SEE IF I CARE!"_

Destruction is all he can think of in the rushing winds. He wants to see this whole fucking lodge razed to the damned ground; he wants to tear off his own skin and shred and kill anything, everything that tries to make him confront these painful voices.

You'll die out there. Die in the forest; lost and cold.

Alone.

There's no way to navigate in this downpour - least not if you don't know the roads. No supplies, no raincoat. No hiking gear. Only fear and longing and hard determination: and Kylo knows for certain those things are washed away in a place like this.

And for the first time in a long, long time: he hears a voice he's almost forgotten.

_You've sentenced her to death._

Guilt has a voice he finds hard to remember.

Hard to hear over the monster.

He thought he'd forgotten to hear it at all.

"Go away", he snaps.

_Dying alone. Out there alone._

"Good. _Let her."_

And then: a whisper.

_Then you'll die alone, too._

...Fuck.

He's angry and bitter and hurting, right down to his core - but there it is. To leave you now and let you die is to kill off every last shred of hope he has: to kill off the one person he has contact with, in this dark and miserable world. If he lets you go now: there will likely be no other chance to break this curse.

Call it what you will. Call it selfish, or cruel, or utilitarian as anything. It's all of those things - it's every single one.

But when Kylo passes the doorframe and breaks into a sprint: all he's thinking of is finding you. A pretty girl he can't help but need, when everything comes down to it.

It's terrifying to him.

The rain absolutely drenches him within moments as he snarls and moves on all fours; muscles in his back rippling with insistence and tail flowing behind. The scent of you is washing away with every drop of rain in the soil, but the rage in his blood pulls it deeper into his lungs as he clears a small ravine, wild and burning in the night.

Earth moves beneath him as the forest deepens all around, spit rinsing away with the taste of rainwater on his tongue.

_Find her. Find her._

Suddenly: your scent increases. It filters through his nostrils, making him huff and shift his course just enough.

And way off the path, scrambling in the mud: he sees you. Sees the fear in your eyes as a pack of wolves circle your trembling form; looking for an easy hunt in the darkness.

And oh, he _roars_.

Your fear only increases when he dives for the nearest wolf; an old, haggared thing that snaps and tries to latch to his huge bicep. Teeth meet skin - claws in a flurry as a massive grey male lunges for Kylo's throat. They tumble together into dirt; Kylo's weight shoving the old wolf up against a tree with a howl of effort.

Pain lances through his shoulder. Heart races.

It's a mess of teeth and claws and broken skin: fur washing into the soil, Kylo slashing at every inch of wolf he can reach. Blood leeches from the wound in his shoulder when a third wolf bowls into his stomach, careening in the darkness while the thunder claps in brightest white. Somehow, he winds his teeth around a leg: bites down hard enough that metallic liquid tangs across his tongue and the wolf he's clawing at _screams_ in pain.

Claws rake down Kylo's back: he snarls and throws a wolf against a boulder with rippling muscle, hearing the crack of its skin over the sound of the lashing rain. Adrenaline tears through his veins like wildfire - but in a clatter of claws, the wolves begin to retreat.

Howls and yaps of pain circle the air; wolves retreating into the treeline on shaky legs.

Kylo's chest hitches in the darkness.

_Holy shit._

His head spins; muscular body swaying on the spot when blood drips down to his claws. Vision blurs; your terrified eyes meeting his.

Kylo slumps.

But soft, warm hands hold him steady.

"Stay with me!" you cry out over the rain, trying to loop his huge, clawed arm over your shoulders. He swears time isn't moving right - reality stumbles, his claws stumbling in the dirt as you lead him back over the sodden ground. Every muscle in his body is begging for relief, and Kylo considers, for a brief moment, that this might be it.

He might not make it through this.

He has no idea why you're helping him. No idea at all as you grunt from the effort of dragging his hulking body through the pouring rain, huffing and heaving when his head begins to loll. Heat flushes over him - time stuttering when the ground rumbles in the dark.

The next thing he knows with any clarity: he's crossing the threshold of the lodge.

Red-tinged water seeps from his fur onto the marble as you kick the door shut - both of you exerted and dripping all over the place.

"Help me", you lick your lips. "I--I need you to put your weight on your back legs. Get you up the stairs."

Everything hurts. Every little part.

But he does as you say; the strain on his muscles making him whimper as you both take the steps one at a time. You're shivering from the cold - but the landing swirls in his vision, you shifting him over your arm.

"Which d--"

 _"--second"_ Kylo weakly gestures.

He stumbles for the doorway before you can stop him; pushing on the handle and careening forward onto the broken mess of blankets. Feathers disperse when he tumbles: gasping over his aching teeth from the absolute agony all through his body.

Shit. He's really gone and messed himself up.

He rolls onto his back, feeling blood seep onto the blankets and through every tangle of fabric. He can't focus on any one place: so much of his deformed body is battered with wounds, matting his fur with dark blood.

You almost reach out to touch him.

Almost.

"Stay here. Just--"

Where the Hell do you expect him to go?

He growls a curse under his breath as he tries to lay still - watches you dart from the room. Maybe you'll leave him here to die.

He would.

But you return with the first aid kit he keeps under the sink: undoing the latch and kneeling by his side. Shaky hands work the latch, pawing at the contents.

Antiseptic cream.

"I'm sorry" you half-sob, shaking your head. "I...I don't know what I'm doing. Your wounds need cleaning, but I..."

_"It's fine."_

You blink. Hesitate.

"Fine?"

He groans, licking at his teeth. Rasps a breath into his lungs.

"Do your best."

There's mud on your knees and water dripping from your hair and you're shivering; shivering in the low light of the room as you take a bottle of water and pour it over the deep gash in his shoulder. Kylo has to force a growl back down into his throat from the pain: red-hot, scalding, making his vision flood with tiny stars.

Holy shit. _That hurts._

You dab the ridges of his fur with antisceptic once enough blood has flushed from it, and Kylo's breathing comes in shallow pants as it works out of his chest. He's feeling ethereal - light, so light. He could just close his eyes and fall back. Maybe if he does it, he'll wake up from this nightmare.

Maybe he won't: and that's okay, too.

"I swear these are closing over," you murmur. "Turning pink. I don't..."

"Happens."

"How?"

He puffs a growled breath, licking his dry teeth. The points push into his tongue, and Kylo's clawed hand grips a gutted pillow.

_"Cursed."_

It feels strange to say it out loud. Admitting something he knows is true, but has never heard leave his tongue in an honest way. Because magic isn't real: he doesn't believe in it. Curses and tricks and strange, hollow words. He knows it's all the product of tales, told over time to scare little children.

He knows...

...Until he doesn't.

You wash away some blood from under his fingernail: when you pick up his huge hand, you take a good look at it. His eyes watch the way you curiously smooth over the fur, finding the rare patches of unblemished skin. Deep black, with claws that come to jagged daggers at the end. There's a cut on one of them: tenderly, you try to rinse it.

He hisses - and in response you flinch back just a bit.

"You..." your breath stutters, eyes wide. "You saved me. Why? Why would you _do that?"_

"And you saved me."

You wring your lips.

"I couldn't just let you die."

And Kylo doesn't respond - just gives you a look as you continue your ministrations. It's growing more pleasant, the more his pain is dissipating from his skin. He feels the wounds beginning to seal; impossibly fast, knitting him back together and giving clarity to his thoughts.

He's being touched. An actual, real life person has their fingers tracing his.

It doesn't feel like it can be true, after all these months utterly _alone_.

"You didn't answer me," you prompt him.

Kylo just sighs; raspy and dark.

"A dead girl isn't of much use to me."

_Well, now you've fucked it._

You laugh - but it's cold, devoid of humour.

"Still threatening to eat me? Scare me into submission?"

Kylo's red eyes move to the window: the rain hammering against the glass, heralding a clap of thunder off in the distance. He hopes the rain washes away all the traces of tonight with it: lets him undo all these mistakes he keeps making.

_Run, run, as fast as you--_

"Tired." He rolls the 'r', deep down in his chest. "Lonely."

He is. He's both of those things more than he has ever been anything else. He's exhausted straight down into his bones, and he's never felt more like he's at the edge of the world. All he wants is someone - just for a little while.

_Just until it's over._

"That...that makes sense."

It does?

You swallow, shrugging.

"Even monsters don't want to be alone," you sniff.

Oh.

That punches right through him: hits him in places it shouldn't. He tries to roll onto his side and snatch his paw back: curl up and try to pray for sleep, now that you've almost fixed him up. By morning these scars will just be memories - only the blood on the sheet serving as a reminder of the gashes in his skin.

"You know," your voice wavers. "You didn't have to--"

A shrill alarm cuts you off - three beeps, quick and successive.

No. No no no no no...

Panic shoots straight through him: Kylo's eyes widening as he draws in air way too fast. Hyperventilating, he pulls a pillow close into his chest and whimpers into it, not caring how pathetic it makes him look as he's captured in your stunned gaze.

The alarm stops trilling - but the panic gets worse with every passing second. It gives him the warning of a minute to prepare: a small mercy, because the sheer shock of it coming on without warning has sent him into almost passing out, slumping on the floor and dragging furtniture down as he falls. Nowadays he gives himself time to come to terms with it.

Figures if it's the last minute he'll have with his mind intact, he'll try to fill it with something worth remembering.

But he only sees panic, only feels fear as you reach out for a brief moment before retracting your hand.

"What is it?"

And then, his pupils dialate to a dark black.

Pain careens across his skin, a cracking in his shoulders that feels as though knives live deep in his bones. Something rearranges; it pushes his skin, searing his nerves as he cries out. Dots spark over his glassy eyes - unbearably, his muscles in his back pull taut like he's been working out for days. They're growing, and he doesn't need them to be growing, Jesus Christ, there's no point in any of this but making him suffer again and again and again--

When it leaves him, he's gasping for breath between his teeth. Red returns back to his irises as he slumps, keening noise in his throat while he tries to move to be more comfortable. Maybe he'll be slightly taller in the morning: maybe he'll be stronger than anyone's ever been.

But there's always relief that, for now: he's still thinking like himself. Still able to comprehend all of this.

Another day passes into the next.

"What was that?"

Your back is flush against the battered wardrobe just a ways from him. Panic tastes like acrid lemon, and Kylo senses your immediate distress at seeing him in that much torment.

"I told you," he whimpers, burrowing his face in his pillow and letting out a half-sobbed growl. "Cursed."

You don't respond for a long time - just leave him to sniffle, in the dark of the room.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

So is he.

He's so very sorry.

"I'll leave you alone. I'll go shower and I'll..." you're trembling in the low light, rubbing your hands over your folded arms. "...if you need anything, just...just..."

It's okay. It's okay that you need to go.

Lord knows if he'd seen that, he'd be out the fucking door all over again.

He hears you stagger to your feet; his ears pricking when you get to the doorway and knock your hands on the wooden frame.

"What do I call you?"

Kylo isn't really thinking right.

So he just...

_"Ben."_

You nod.

"Sleep well, Ben."

And he doesn't - he never does.

But he'll try for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come and say hello on Tumblr!](callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


End file.
